


Nowhere Man

by tyrsibs (twiceshy)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dreamscapes, Gen, Life after Dean W., Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6312112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twiceshy/pseuds/tyrsibs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In spite of a rocky year, Lisa Braeden and her son are now back in Cicero and happy.  Except for the missing puzzle piece in her memories.  Except for when things don't make sense.  Except for the feeling that someone is watching--or maybe watching out for them. For SOM, and my ever patient hubby (and beta tester).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowhere Man

Lisa Braedon didn’t know why she kept having the dream. It seemed so random, even though it always had recurring elements. The most consistent part though, the feeling of lonesome longing she experienced every time she woke up, convinced that she had somehow found something lost; almost as if she were grasping at missing puzzle pieces of some past-life, though she didn’t put much stock in the idea. Still, every time she would have to convince herself that this dream wasn’t true, that it was just one of those symbolic psychological constructs, and would fade away into the ether as her day started.

After all, she wasn’t the kind of woman to pine after an imaginary man.

XXX

  


The first time she had the dream was shortly after they moved back to Cicero. After their dark year that had begun so promisingly, with a move to Michigan and a chance to help open a new studio in a new town, that promise ended with her boyfriend Matt dead of a heart attack in her living room. Two days later her grief was punctuated by their car crash, bringing home the realization that the universe was somehow pointing out her errors of judgement. When she and Ben returned home to Indiana, it felt a bit like turning tail and running, but she they both needed the change, the chance to put this terrible year in the past where it belonged.

Packing boxes were stacked everywhere she looked, but the kitchen was finally beginning to seem organized. Lisa was wiping down a casserole dish before placing it on its new shelf, wincing a bit when Ben slammed the back door as he came into the house behind her.

“Hey, Mom—look what I found!” He held out his dirty palm, displaying a small silver disc.

“What is it, an old quarter?” It was about that size, and tarnished around its edges. Real silver? She thought it might be. As he drew closer, though, she saw instead of the walking Liberty symbol she was expecting, a ridged five-point star ringed by a circle of fire. A hole had been drilled over the top star point and one chain link was still attached, though it was filled with caked dirt.  


“It’s some kind of medallion,” Ben said. “You know out back, in the alley, on the other side of the fence? Right where you said you were going to plant your irises? The ground is really hard back there, you know?”  


“Okay-“  


“I was digging around back there, and there was this big rock by the post at the end, right? So I moved the rock and it looked like someone else had just been digging underneath it, since the ground was kinda looser. I dug down deep, and it was right there in the hole. Buried treasure!” Ben moved his hand closer to her face so that she could see better, and the star in his palm seemed to catch cold fire for a moment before slipping back into its grimy surface. “I’m gonna put it on my key chain!” he declared.  


“Are you sure you want to keep that?” The coin made her feel inexplicably nervous.  


“Yeah, of course—It’s treasure! Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up. It’ll be my good luck charm.” He closed his fingers over the star as he turned away, before she could make another Mom argument, and headed for the downstairs bathroom to rinse the remaining earth from his treasure.  


_She stood on an endlessly straight dirt road, not much more than an old twin track lane, encroached on both sides by the sort of tall wild grass that would slap at her thighs if she were to walk into it. Ahead in the distance she could see two lines of cottonwoods that formed a square corner, hiding something from view. A barn? A house? She then whispered, “…a homestead,” surprising herself. It wasn’t a word she often used, if ever.  
_

_She turned to look behind, finding only the road. Perhaps a mile away in that direction, a dust cloud swept along in the distance, at a right angle to her track. Maybe a car. Maybe just the wind. Turning back toward the hidden homestead, she started walking towards the line of trees. She found she wanted to see the house.  
_

_She didn’t make it. As the light rapidly faded to sunset, turning the yellow grasses to thin shafts of fire, she saw there was a man standing in her road, not quite in its center, more on the left-hand side. He had his back to her, and gave no indication that he even knew she was there.  
_

_She should turn back, she thought, glancing over her shoulder. The cloud of dust was directly behind her now, making its own way up the lane. Realizing the car was now heading this way, she knew they should get out of the road, and let that dust generating beast go by. She couldn’t quite reach the man, who remained as still as if he were frozen, acknowledging neither Lisa nor the fast-approaching car. Turning to the left-hand side toward the weedy grass, she observed how the wind ruffled the tips of his short light brown hair and how the setting sun lit up the barely-tanned skin of his neck above his work jacket. Something about that profile, was he even real?  
_

_The car had not slowed and was now only a few dozen yards away. She stepped off the track, reaching out to get his attention, as she began to warn him of the approaching car._  


When Lisa woke that morning, the dream fading as fast as that sunset, she could not have said what he looked like. But the dream’s mood hung over her, and while filling the coffeemaker reservoir with cold water, she surprised Ben and herself by suddenly singing—“Doesn’t have a point of view, knows not where he’s going to—“  


Nowhere man.  


XXX

  


Their lives, having come to an abrupt and tragic halt not so long ago, slowly regained rhythm and purpose. Ben started middle school, content to be among old friends. Lisa went back to her old studio as the assistant manager, and her boss, happy to have her back, began hinting early on that he might retire soon and leave Lisa in charge. She dated without intensity, finding contentment in simply knowing that the enjoyment of someone else’s company was still a possibility for her.  


A month after moving in, Lisa installed new doors and window latches on their house, making sure that she had chosen the best locks, and added a home security contract for good measure. Ben laughed at her, “Are you fortifying the house against some kinda biker-gang attack or something?” But she knew she was just being careful.  


And every now and then in her dreams, she would find herself on that twin-track lane, getting closer and closer to confronting her Nowhere Man. He wasn’t always as still and insubstantial as a photograph, though. Sometimes he startled when she called to him as she reached for his shoulder, whipping around and seizing her hand in a painful grip before quickly dropping it, as if suddenly recognizing her somehow. Other nights her heel crunched on the gravel and he turned, awaiting her approach with a soft fond smile, or a mischievous wolfish grin.  


_He wasn’t in his usual spot tonight, but the car behind her was travelling faster than usual – far too fast for the road – kicking up a true whirlwind of dust. This time Lisa quickly stepped into the grass and crouched down, inching back away from the road. The driver must not see her. This was important, in the way that dream logic is always important. The car tore past in its cloud-spray of gravel and dust, leaving behind only an afterimage of glinting chrome and a gleaming black frame. She waited until the dust had settled before emerging. Then she saw him far ahead of her, on the edge of the cottonwood stand, her Nowhere man. He moved from tree to tree, stopping to peer into the hidden homestead’s yard before each cautious step, until he turned the corner of the windbreak and disappeared from view._  


XXX

  


“Huh-“  


Lisa’s cleanup mode had finally reached the garage, which was still, a year now since their move, half-filled with stacks of cardboard boxes. One by one, she was going through the cardboard wall, delegating items to bring into the house, re-boxed and stowed away again, or donated to the mission store located a few blocks from the studio.  


The box in front of her now did not look familiar, did not belong to her. Sure, it had the movers’ tag on it, but she could find neither her own handwriting nor Ben’s anywhere on it. It was sealed with silver duct tape, something she hadn’t had in the house for years, and she could just make out the remains of someone’s address beneath the edge of one sealed flap.  


Maybe the movers found it tucked away in their old house somewhere and assumed it belonged to her? Perhaps there was a legible version of the owner’s address inside. Her nearly-dull box knife pushed reluctantly through the silver tape, but finally she was able to pull open the box flaps.  


No address card, but the scent of leather greeted her from inside the box. On top was a carefully folded, dark brown jacket, its surface lined here and there with the distinct rub marks of very old, but well-cared-for leather. She reached in over the flap for the jacket, but as her fingers brushed against it, she was jolted by a sudden flare of panic. She immediately pulled her arms away, dropping the box from her lap, and quickly pushed it away from her with her foot, knocking it over with a dull thud.  


Her whole body felt enervated, as if she’d just touched an electric fence, and she could swear she caught a whiff of ozone trailing the smell of warm earthy leather. She stared at the jacket, half tumbled out of the upturned box, trying to figure out why someone’s lost clothing would send her into such a ‘Danger! Danger!’ panic response. Not moments later, some thing, or some-one, maybe? …related to that jacket in some way, began pushing at her wall of unreasoning fear. As though to not only drive away that fear, but to draw her back. She inched closer to the box.  


“Whoa- Cool jacket!” Ben had come up behind her to see what she was doing. Now he moved past, and bent down to pick the thing up. Lisa put her hand on his arm in a vain attempt at stopping him, but if he felt any electric shock at its touch, it didn’t show. In fact he seemed delighted. “Wow, this thing is awesome! Was it Dad’s?”  


“What? Oh. No…” Focusing on her son’s face, she managed a half smile. “No, I don’t think so.” Her ex-husband, Ben’s stepfather, was never the leather jacket type. “I think it’s a stray. It followed us from our last house accidentally.”  


Ben shifted the old leather coat to one arm and pulled the box upright, studying the decayed and obscured address on the flap. “There’s a B, I think, or a P.” He tilted the box to show his mom the blocky capital letters. “I can’t read the city, but here’s a D with like a 571 from a dark marker stain.” He tapped the letter and three numbers just below the line of tape. “The rest got torn off, the last time this was opened. No way we’ll ever figure this address out, so can I keep the jacket?”  


A small voice inside her responded, “no no no no—,” and she said, “I don’t know, honey—“  


He dropped the box and she heard something shift inside it, but Ben was now shrugging on the jacket, flapping his arms inside the too-long sleeves. In spite of her fear, Lisa laughed.  


“C’mon, Mom, I’ll grow into it!”  


“It’s not ours. And it’s really old—“  


“But you can’t just give away someone else’s coat, right! What if they want it and track it down? I’ll keep it nice for them, in case they ever come looking—“  


Lisa put her palm up in mock surrender. Why should she be afraid of a coat? It didn’t make sense, and she knew it. Taking a deep breath, she stilled her fearful thoughts. “OK, but I’m giving you a project. See if you can track down that zip code. Maybe we can use that to figure out where it came from.” Ben’s face fell, but she continued, “In the meantime, you can keep it in your closet—I want a good faith effort, alright?”  


“K, Mom—thanks!” He sprinted up the garage steps and into the house.  


She stepped to the box and gingerly flipped open the top flap. All that remained inside was a small metal box, like a pencil box. She fished it out and opened its lid. Inside she found a miniature collection of keepsakes. An Army man, a silver letter opener with “B.S.” inscribed in homemade letters on the handle, a beaded bracelet of wood and bone, each bead carved into a primitive skull, and a couple of guitar picks—one was labeled with a piece of masking tape in the same block letters as the address—“B. JOVI 11/11”. That was weird. They moved into that house in Battle Creek in the fall of 2011. Didn’t they? She snapped the lid shut again, denying the forgotten something that was again trying to push its way into her consciousness.  


_“Lisa, get out of the road!” Wait a minute – shouldn’t it be her telling the man in front of her to get out of the road? She hesitated and looked from him to the car, now nearly upon them, and almost leapt from the lane into the tall grass._  


Lisa stood at the garage workbench, not remembering exactly how she’d gotten there, cardboard box in one hand and metal tin in the other. For a moment, she contemplated tossing the tin into the trash can at her feet, but then she opened an empty built-in drawer under the bench and set it inside. Picking up a box cutter from the bench top, she separated the top flaps of the box so that Ben could have them for his research. These she dropped on top of the tin, and closed the drawer, maybe a little too hard, removing the implausible objects from sight. The remains of the box she flung into her throwaway pile as she retreated from the garage. The shambles of the box wall could wait until tomorrow.  


XXX

  


She wasn’t supposed to be home this early, but she had promised Dave dinner, and had left the studio in Carol’s hands to give her time to make it a good one. All that remained was to get the rolls in the oven and go change. The doorbell rang just as she reached the foot of the stairs opposite the front door, one foot on the riser, on her way up to pick out a dress. Piercing green eyes met hers through the tall narrow pane of glass alongside the door, so she had no choice but to answer. I should have gotten that glass frosted, she thought.  


A tall woman with deep auburn hair stood on her porch, sporting a megawatt smile aimed right at her. “Hello, Mrs. Braeden. I’m sorry to bother you at home, but Carol said you were here. I’m Ms. Sands with United Bank and Trust, and I have some documents that your employer authorized you to sign.” The woman raised and waved a folder of papers she was holding.  


“Dan didn’t say anything about-“  


“Yes, I’m afraid they are quite urgent – if I might come in?” The woman stepped forward, as though inviting herself inside, and Lisa saw her too-bright smile slip for a brief moment as the woman’s foot stopped short of the threshold. “You know what,” the woman recovered quickly, her smile returned, transfixing Lisa in its flash. “It’s such a lovely afternoon, and this won’t take a moment. Maybe we can sit out here?” The woman moved towards the little table and chairs on Lisa’s porch.  


“Um-Okay—” Lisa followed, taking the seat nearest the door and sat forward in the chair.  


The woman eased into the other chair like she belonged to it, setting the folder in front of Lisa and leaning in toward her. She flipped open the cover and Lisa saw, nestled between two blank pieces of paper, a black and white photo of three men seated on a low sofa. The angle was high and to the side, so—a surveillance camera shot? The one in the middle wore jeans and a dark Army-Navy style military jacket over a plaid shirt, but the other two were more formally dressed. The one in the middle might have been the youngest of the three, somewhere in his thirties, though it was hard to tell. He had short hair and he looked—well, he looked—  


“What is this?” Lisa asked, confused, looking up at the other woman.  


In response, the woman reached over and grasped Lisa’s chin, finger tips curled forcefully around the back of her jaw. “You tell me, sweetheart,” she said, and Lisa’s whole world suddenly went as gray as the man’s image in the photo. Flashes of memories began flashing upon the haze between her and the sunshine-filled porch, of their house, of Dave, of Ben. The images began flipping in front of her eyes, faster and faster, as if fingers were rifling through a photo box. Her old house in Battle Creek, Matt, the hospital, a dusty road, a man with his back to her--  


She drew a shaky breath as the gray haze began to drift away, meeting the woman’s gaze. The other stared back, her expression intense and probing. “Dream lover, huh? Where is he now?”  


“Nobody, I don’t-” Lisa breathed. “He’s nowhere.”  


The other pulled back slightly. “That’s not the truth. Because, if you truly believe that, then what use are you to me?” The grin widened again, “How about we dig a little deeper?”  


A voice in her head shouted, “Move! Now!” and Lisa jerked her chin up, twisting away from the woman’s touch, taking them both by surprise. Lisa half stood, chair jamming into the wall, and flung her whole body back. The voice, which was hers and yet not her, burst out, “Get—Get away from me!” As she turned to run into the house, the toe of her shoe hooked a chair leg, and she toppled sideways over the chair. She looked up.  


The woman was standing now, just next to the table, staring at her with a mix of amazement and irritation. “Well, aren’t you a feisty little mouse?” Lisa kicked at the table between them, pulling herself backward on her butt across the porch planks. The woman hardly flinched when the table top slammed hard into her thigh. She began moving deliberately around the little table. Lisa twisted, scrambling up onto one knee, but she knew she wasn’t going to be fast enough.  


“Lisa, are you alright?”  


Both women turned at the sound of this new voice. Carol, plump and happy Carol, stood at the far corner of the porch, looking shocked, her mouth open and brow furrowed. “What on earth is going on?” Lisa could have kissed her in relief, and then hugged her for her tone of righteous indignation at seeing her boss, her friend, being loomed over by this woman.  


Ms. Sands froze in place, staring first at Carol, and then taking in Gene Samuels across the street, having stopped his watering to see what was going on, shifting over to note Mrs. McKean’s curtains twitching in the house next to his. Lisa took advantage of her pause to stand up, and step toward her unexpected rescuer. The woman finally brought her gaze back to Lisa’s face, smiling broadly again. “Not really worth that much trouble, I suppose.” She swept up her photograph and brushed past Lisa, who stepped quickly back, moved by Carol without sparing a glance, and walked away down the street.

That evening, after Dave had gone, protesting that he’d be happy to protect them by staying the night on the living room couch, Ben slipped the silver sun disc, which he had strung on a chain and taken to wearing every day, from around his neck and offered it to her.  


“Honey, I can’t take that.”  


“Just for tonight, Mom—if you want. Anyway, it always makes me feel better.”  


Lisa gave him a skeptical look, but his eyes were so earnest that she relented, opening her palm. He dropped the coin into her hand and she pulled him in for a hug, relishing the comfort of his head on her shoulder and the warm weight of the silver in her hand.  


_They sat in the tall grass as the black beast sped by in its whirling cloud. He glanced at her throat, where the polished quartz disc with its painted star and sunburst—Ben’s birthday gift to her that year—lay secured by a braided rope chain. He shook his head, shrugged and said, “Close. Pretty damn close.” He touched the stone, trailed his fingers lightly down over her collar and over the buttons of her blouse, coming to rest atop her hand, which held the photograph._  


_“No,” she said. “No, it’s mine.”_  


_But he cocked his head at her, gently tugged at the corner of the photo, and she let him draw it away, feeling the loss with a pang. His eyes never left hers, but his face fell into shadow as he tore the photo into small pieces. The three colorless men disappeared under his fingers._  


_He handed some of the fragments to her, and without thinking she mirrored him as he raised his own handful of lost memories above his head and released them into the air. A breeze caught the scraps and swirled them above their heads. She looked up, happy now in spite of herself, at their strangely beautiful dance as they floated up out of their reach, joining and separating in a cloud that shimmered with an iridescence that belied the grey ink of its origins. The feel of his warmth was gone by the time the scraps flitted above the homestead treetops. Her gaze dropped. He was no longer by her side._  


XXX

  


When she unwrapped it, Ben called it her amulet, but Lisa preferred it on her keychain, telling him that this way she could look at it all the time. Lisa had found herself holding it at odd times over the last few months, taking comfort in feeling its smooth surface under her fingers. Its lacquered surface now glinted and clattered against the steering column as she turning onto their street, thinking about calling Carol to go over attendance numbers when she got home. She turned into her driveway, waiting briefly for the garage door to finish opening, and pulled into the garage.  


Her son’s voice reached her before she saw him. She slid herself out of the car, looking around for him and grabbing her purse and her keys with their stone amulet before closing the car door. He was across the street, his head under the hood of a big old muscle car, his voice eager.  


“Yeah, my mom wants me to try for IU when I graduate, but I wanna stick around here. My uncle has this garage, and I work there after school. ”  


“Uh-huh.” A deep voice encouraged him.  


“We get to work on small engines in Industrial Arts, but if I keep working with Uncle Rich? Eventually he has to let me take on the big beauties, like this one. He doesn’t get cars like this in very often, though.”  


“No?”  


“Nope—“  


Lisa was crossing the street, staring at the black beast of a car, newly materialized in her neighborhood. The car’s owner stood on the far side of her son. She caught a glimpse of jeans and a reddish brown work boot.  


“She could use a little TLC,” Ben was saying.  


“You think?” The man’s fingers, splayed carelessly over the rim of the hood, drummed against the metal.  


She cleared her throat, not for attention, but to steady her voice as her heartbeat inexplicably quickened. She knew this car. Why did she know this car?  


“Hey, Mom,” Ben poked his face around the side of the hood, than backed up as he realized that the traveler was pulling down the brace and getting ready to latch the hood down. “This is Dean. He was looking for an address around here. He let me look at his car.”  


The man stepped around her son, a lazy smirk on his face. “Hello, Ben’s mom,” he said, his eyes roving past her face, down and then up. A black and white image flashed in her mind and was gone. She extended her hand in greeting. Keep it simple, she thought.  


“Lisa,” she said. He took her hand, squeezed it instead of shaking, his grin widening.  


“Hello, Lisa.”  


_He took her hand and they walked into the grass, and she enjoyed seeing the little crinkles deepen at the side of his eye as he smiled, squinting into the setting sun. The old leather jacket was around her shoulders, and as they neared the homestead he reached up and slid it off of her, spreading it on the ground just at the edge of the tall grass. He sank to his knees onto it, and reached for her again, entangling his fingers with hers, pulling her down into the grass—_  


She realized suddenly that they were standing in the middle of the street. For a split second, she saw not asphalt at her feet but dust, and heard a voice echoing in her head—“Hiding would be good right now,” it said.  


“I like your chain,” the traveler said. “Cool pentagram. Did you come up with the design, or did he?” Lisa shook her head, as if to clear cobwebs, and gazed up at the man. His hair is longer, she thought.  


“What?” She realized that he was talking about the decorated quartz on her keychain. “Oh. No, Ben—he made it for me. It’s sort of a good luck charm.”  


“Is it? Do you need extra luck?” He was closer to her now, and she could see that his smile didn’t mean anything. _When he was happy, his smile lit up his entire face._ She thought he ought to be moving away—before, he always left too soon—who was he? Who is he now?  


The answer popped into her mind as he stood there, waiting for her to take the step closer that he seemed sure she would make. Her almost-her-own voice whispered, “He’s the driver. Not the watcher, not the Nowhere Man. The driver.”  


“Ben.” She forced her focus away from the driver’s—Dean’s—face. “I’ve got some groceries I need your help with. Frozen stuff,” she shrugged, glancing back at the driver. “Can you give me a hand?”  


Ben grimaced, but he joined Lisa as she turned to go. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching her arm around her son in a protective hug.  


“Looks like I’ll be going soon, too” the driver said to their backs. “See you around, Ben’s mom.”  


Though he rolled his eyes, Ben obeyed her whispered instruction, entering their house by the front door. She heard the deadbolt snick into place as she opened her car door and hit the garage button, risking a glance over her shoulder as she pulled herself upright again. The traveler’s attention was now on a small man in a dark overcoat walking up on his side of the street. She hadn’t noticed that one before, but he must have come out of a neighbor’s house or gotten off the bus down at the light. He had to have—right?  


As the garage door closed off her view of the two men, she grabbed her phone from the dashboard, gripping it tightly as she passed through the kitchen, locking the entry behind her, patting her confused kid on the shoulder, and making her way to stand guard by her sealed front door.  


There was no reason to be frightened of this man, the logical part of her said. She looked through the narrow sidelight window by her door to the black car, where the dark-coated man and Dean were now leaning on the hood and talking, looking at her house instead of each other. Dean’s arms were crossed.  


There’s every reason, her dream-self countered. He left—he’s different—he’s smiling and not smiling--he’s not supposed to be here! She punched “911” on her contacts, her thumb hovering over the Send button. Just in case.  


“It’ll be alright, honey,” she said to the silent Ben who had entered the hallway behind her. “I just have a weird feeling about that guy.” She turned back to the window. “Everything is okay.”  


Ben mumbled, “—seemed cool to me—" as he turned to climb the stairs.  


Lisa returned to her vigil. This was her house. She could feel its solid walls around her. She was inside and she and Ben were safe from the swirling dust clouds that threatened to flow under the door and into her reality. She would be damned if she was going to let that happen. Still, she heard the breeze whistle through the cracks as she watched the two men outside her homestead.  


CODA

  


Crowley cocked his head, regarding Dean. “Trust me, mate, you don’t want that.”  


“You know, I really think I do.”  


“Ah—you do know that house is warded? All four corners, locked up tight. Threshold, too.”  


“I oughta. I know exactly where the sigils are. Put ‘em there.” Dean relaxed, his arms crossed, and leaned up against the flank of his car, smile back on his face. At Crowley’s raised eyebrow, he said, “No one pays much attention to a guy in a power company cap with a clipboard.” He inclined his head just a bit towards the demon. “Here’s a question for you. The house is protected, sure, and the kid’s got the hands-off charm—though that was just some kind of dumb luck—but still, you coulda grabbed them, any time over the last few years. He would’ve danced to any tune you played. Hell, they both would have.”  


Crowley rolled his eyes. “So what’s your point?”  


“Why didn’t you?” Dean shot a direct look over his shoulder at his supposed King, and then turned back to his contemplation of the front door. Crowley edged over until he was beside him, leaning back, his hands in his overcoat pockets.  


“Wouldn’t have been sporting. He—you—took them out of play, off the board.” Dean snorted softly at that. “Not to mention, the last thing I needed was a rabid squirrel on a rampage, digging up all my hidey-holes ‘til you found your lost treasure.”  


“Huh!“ It was almost a laugh.  


Crowley answered it with a nod, eyes glittering, “I kept an eye on her of course, just in case, but you never came lurking around. So here they are, and you managed to bury them yourself-eh? No contact, no strings, and you’re free and clear. Perhaps best to keep it that way.”  


Dean shook off the suggestion with a slight tilt of his head. “Do you think she’s still as bendy as she used to be?”  


“If you want bendy, I know a great place just down the highway. In Chicago. Where we ought to have been. Yesterday.” Crowley pushed himself away from the car and turned to face his knight, leaning in to whisper, “You don’t want the bright lights, fine. We’ll stick to the tawdry little hole in the walls you seem to love so much. But here’s the thing about that house. Don’t you think that maybe the Moose is looking for us? That just maybe, if the name Braeden pops up in one of those hacked police reports of his, he’d be here as fast as those ridiculously long legs could carry him? Are you ready to have him that close? Is a little bit of fun worth that?”  


“No police report. She’ll open the door for me.”  


“Right. Because you’re irresistible. That’s why she bundled her little boy up and skittered away from you, thirty seconds after meeting the new and improved Dean Winchester.”  


Dean’s focus finally shifted to the asphalt street. He pursed his lips considering, unlocking his arms and pushing himself up in turn. “Hmmm.” His little smile was back. “Bendy strippers, huh?”  


“So much more than strippers, my friend.”  


Crowley received a nod for his troubles as Dean gestured towards the passenger side door. “Get in.”

 _Her fingers still interlaced with his as the sun’s rays disappear into the near-twilight of evening, she scans his face intently. “I can’t help but think—know—I know you, but from where?” He shrugs, giving her a slight wink as he silently squeezes her hand, turning his gaze to the silhouette of the homestead in the near distance as the light fades._  


Behind the sidelight by her front door, Lisa sighed as the sleek black car drives off, removing her thumb from the phone.  
“Nowhere,” she whispered.


End file.
